The telephonic shrill
urgents me
blearily into dawn.
Discomfited I roll
myself across
a seeming endless
counterpane,
set foot
on an insecure floor,
retrieve the handset
and receive
a droning earful.
Bliss was it in that dawn
to be asleep,
to be awakened serves
to remind oneself
they’re far from heaven.
Malcolm Evison
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/rude-awakening/
